


The Game is On

by NikkiDoodle



Series: I'm no Detective || Sherlock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Character Death, Death, Delusions, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Friendship, Hate, Hearing Voices, Help, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, Male-Female Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Murder Mystery, Murder-Suicide, Non-Sexual Submission, Paranoia, Past Violence, Physical Abuse, Self Confidence Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1446694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikkiDoodle/pseuds/NikkiDoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's death had left her broken and confused. Mycroft Holmes is left to help pick up the pieces and to try to keep her alive. With the return of Sherlock Holmes, he believes that everything would return to normal. But, it doesn't. Sherlock is still so focused to uncover the mysteries behind perhaps one of the only women he's ever showed any compassion toward, that he neglects to see just how much he's actually hurting her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your Death Has Changed Me

**Author's Note:**

> Second part to I'm no Detective||Sherlock Series. These parts will take place in Season 3 so if you haven't seen Season 3 be warned for spoilers! Once again, I do not own Sherlock nor BBC.

You honestly could not remember the last time you ate properly, nor did you really give a damn. After seeing that whole incident, you couldn't stomach anything.

  
_Sherlock Holmes was indeed **dead**_  
 

  
He died right before your very eyes, and you couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. You wanted to do something, anything to have stopped him. It wasn't long after you started thinking that you could have done something to have prevented his death. Maybe you should have staid with him? Maybe you should have talked to him in his time of need? But no, instead you abandoned him. You left him alone and went back into your place of hiding. You felt so much anger, so much built up anger that you just felt the urge to end your very own life. Maybe that's what put you here in the first place? Maybe that's why these nice white walls welcomed you into their awaiting home with such open arms? Maybe that's why the nice nurses and doctors took such good care of you, because they knew about what you went through and couldn't help but feel the least bit sorry for you and your life.

But, nothing made a difference anymore. You didn't care about life, family, friends, nothing. Sherlock Holmes, the man you looked up to, the man who you dared to call your friend, had left you and went to a place and nobody else would allow you to follow him to.

It didn't take long for you to be released into the custody of someone who was willing to watch you and make sure you weren't going to try and take your life. The one person who you would have least had expected who wanted to take care of you. The one person who never really showed any type of caring emotion toward you. He walked into your room after you had been released into his custody and stood there in the doorway just looking down at you with those eyes of his. He stood there as he waited for you to say something, but you said nothing, you hadn't said a word after you had seen Sherlock's skull crushed and busted open all over the sidewalk. The doctors believed you to be mute now after such a traumatic event that was seen by your eyes. But, the man standing before you now in your doorway knew better than those idiots.

"You know you'll have to start speaking again sometime soon." he told you, causing your blood red eyes to gaze up at him before they dropped back to the floor. He sighed, walking into the room and standing before you as he waited for you to pick up your small bag that sat beside you on the bed. He pondered for a moment before reaching down and picking up the bag and carrying it himself.

"Surely you're not going to make a habit out of this? I'm not one to carry your things but given the circumstances I will assist you just this once. However, when we return home you will be on your own. Though, you will still be under my watchful eye. Do I make myself clear?" he asked while walking back toward the door with your bag in his hand and his walking cane in the other. He turned to watch you pushing yourself up off the bed and following behind him before you bypassed him all together and walked down the hall as if you were still in a ghostly trance. He sighed deeply, knowing that whatever the doctors had you on were making you this way. He also knew that Sherlock's death had effected you in more ways than one as well. There were things that he wished he could have told you, but it was best to keep them from you for now. There would be a time and place for you to know everything that had happened, and you would find out the truth in due time.

"Foolish little brother, look at what you've done to her." Mycroft muttered to himself before carrying on down the hallway to catch up with your slow moving body.

When the two of you reached your new home, Mycroft's estate, you were helped out of the car by his driver and escorted up to his home. You were informed by the doctor's a few hours ago that you were going to be released into Mycroft's custody, seeing as how Mrs. Hudson was unable to give you the proper care and watchful eye that Mycroft could give. Though, you honestly did not understand why he took it upon himself to do this for you. You figured John would have came to the rescue and would have asked to watch you, though you knew John was still dealing with everything himself and he most likely wasn't fit to take care of you in the first place. Mycroft showed you to your room before showing you around his rather large home. It was beautiful really when you finally got to see the full house.

When the tour was over, Mycroft brought you back into the main room which held the large staircase which lead to the second floor of his home. He stood there for a moment before looking you over once and clearing his throat.

"Dinner will be ready in about an hour. I would suspect it would be best for you to go take a shower and freshen up in the meantime. Unpack your things and get sorted into your room." he told you. There was a slight unease in his voice as he spoke, perhaps he was nervous to leaving you alone while you bathed or put your things away, worried that you might try something in means to end your life for a fourth time. You rolled your eyes lazily, knowing that it would do you no good to try and kill yourself again because Mycroft wouldn't allow that to happen. Without saying anything you drug yourself upstairs and to the bathroom, Mycroft watching you for as far as he could until you disappeared from his sight. When you left he gave a frustrated sigh and pinched the bring of his nose, he had a headache from everything that had happened in the last few months.

To say that he wasn't worried about your safety would have been a lie.

Ever since you started working for the man, he started to, dare he say, _enjoy_ your company as it wasn't nearly as bad as the other idiots he had to put up with on a daily basics. He had heard about what happened between you and his brother right before his death. The two of you had gotten into an argument in the middle of the hospital right before Sherlock was going to talk with Moriarty. Of course you didn't know that Moriarty was waiting on the rooftop for him, all you knew was that Sherlock was being a rather big ass in saying that,

" _I don't care about you. I never cared about you, or John, or Mrs. Hudson. You're all a bunch of rambling idiots who aren't worth my time. You especially have been a pain in my side and I've wanted nothing more than to be rid of you since day one._ "

Mycroft knew that Sherlock was saying those things in order to protect you, but Sherlock didn't know just how much it would have ended up hurting you after you yelled and screamed in his face,

_"You're nothing by a lair! You've always been arrogant and an emotionless son of a bitch! I can't believe I ever gave a damn about you! You **were** my friend, Sherlock! Now I don't give a **damn** about what happens to you! Go to **hell!** "_

Shortly after that you had witnessed Sherlock jump from the roof of the hospital by John's side as you went to exit the building. After Mycroft arrived to see the event, he found you in one of the rooms of the hospital covered in massive amounts of blood and looking at the wall across from your emotionless as the nurses were afraid to even touch you after seeing you in that state. Mycroft stood in the hospital room and watched you for a good long while after being told that you had to be pried off the body and cried and screamed two words repeatedly.

_"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"_

He stood there trying to deduce something from you, anything from you, but all he could get was the general outline of what everyone could see. Everyone tried their hand to get you to say something, even John tried talking to you, worried that your shock was too great. Mrs. Hudson couldn't even get a peep out of you, which meant things were rather serious now. John and the other doctor informed Mrs. Hudson that you needed to stay over night to be kept close watch on due to the trauma that you had been through.

Later that night, after Mycroft had returned home and no sooner had he removed his jacket did he get a phone call from John saying that you had just attempted to kill yourself from an overdose of Vicodin that you had somehow managed to snatch off a med cart without anyone seeing or even knowing that you had left your room. It took about half an hour to bring you back as the doctors worked on you with John screaming and yelling at them, nearly scaring the piss out of them, to keep you alive. After that you were moved to a more watchful part of the hospital wing where you seemed to start to get better up to the point where they released you and sent you home with Mrs. Hudson. No longer were you home did you (somehow) manage to find Sherlock's stash and once again OD on that.

It was sad really, because Mrs. Hudson found you curled up in Sherlock's own chair with his violin tucked in your arms, clinging to it for dear life. You were once again rushed back to the hospital and kept under watch again. You still hadn't spoken a single word, making the doctor's believe that you had become mute due to the suicide of Sherlock Holmes. You were kept for several days this time and once again released into the care of Mrs. Hudson. John honestly didn't have much hope and faith in the woman when you had come home for a second time. John worried greatly that you would try to kill yourself again, so he had Lestrade and a few others searching the flat up and down for anymore drugs that Sherlock might have had stashed away. Though, nobody knew how you found them as quickly as you had when they had searched for several days before hand for anything.

Mycroft sighed, recalling back to the last phone call he had gotten from John on your third attempt at killing yourself. You had gotten to the roof of Baker Street and threw yourself off the top of the three story building, hoping that would end everything, but it only left you with a few broken ribs and a fracture arm as you had hit Mrs. Hudson garden somehow on accident instead of the sidewalk, which was your aim and would have indeed killed you, had you not landed on the flowers instead. After that Mrs. Hudson could no longer stand to worry about your safety and had you admitted into the mental ward of the hospital for evaluation. They kept you there for nearly three months before even considering to release you into Mycroft's custody. Though, due to Mycroft's easy convenience (more like ranking over them with his government official office bit) deal he was able to bring you out and place you under his watchful eye.

Once dinner was ready you were brought downstairs by two of his maids and given a seat next to him while the both of you ate. Well, more like Mycroft ate while you sat there and just glared angerly at your food. He watched you while he put down his fork and leaned back in his chair a bit, looking down at you with one of his looks.

"If you're not going to eat then I shall have to force it down your throat." You looked over at him, your eyes red from crying again, told him that you weren't in the mood to be messed with and his eyes told you the same ordeal; he was not in the mood to mess with you. When you made no motion to pick up your fork, Mycroft proceeded to pick it and plucking a bit of food up along with it and bringing it to your mouth. You turned your head away, which was the wrong move for you.

In an instant Mycroft stood up and swooped over and grabbed your head while pushing on your face in just the right place to cause you to open your mouth where he shoved the food inside and clasped his hand over your mouth and nose, causing you to swallow the small bit. You struggled against him, which was the wrong thing to do as he only tightened his grip around you, causing a great ordeal of discomfort.

"I told you, and I meant it, Miss. [L/N]." His voice held an eery tone to it which caused you to stiffen and still. You had never heard Mycroft's voice like this before, and it held a deadly and serious tone to it. He held you there for a moment longer to see if you were wiling to start eating yourself, and when you made the notion to grab your fork, he released you slowly. He stood next to you for a moment longer and watched as you went to pick up another piece of food and place it to your lips, watching him out of the corner of your eye before opening your mouth and putting the food inside as you chewed and swallowed it. Mycroft gave a small smile before seating himself next to you once again and continuing his own meal.

A few weeks passed and you still made no motion to talk to anyone, but it seemed like you were doing better. You wandered around Mycroft's home (and office when he needed to go to work) and looked about for things to do while you staid here. You hoped that if you acted good enough for him that he would return you back to Baker Street where you could once again continue to sulk in your grief and maybe end everything once and for all. Life just held no meaning any longer for you, not after that day five months ago. You just felt that everywhere you went, life stopped near you. Your past had brought you up to this point and you didn't think you would ever be able to escape. You worried about what would happen if Mycroft ever tried to use your past against you-- you'd be _**damned**_ if you allowed that to happen. You weren't about ready to be controlled by someone else.

Walking around the home you wandered into Mycroft's office where he was busy looking through papers. You waddled your way inside and looked around the place, noticing the painting of the Queen herself on his wall beside his bookcase (which was filled to the brim with books) and the chair that was placed in front of his desk. You decided to take a seat across from him. Sitting down you noticed he glanced up at you from his work before his eyes lingered back down to the pages that he scanned so carefully.

"Is there something you need?" he asked, though having no response from you. He sighed, knowing that you should have been talking once again, but instead you remained silent still. He looked over his papers while feeling your watchful gaze upon him for once. He flipped a page over and continued reading while you staid in his room and gave him company. He asked no further questions and figured that you would just leave when you finally became too bored of being around him. However, you decided to linger long into the night up until the point Mycroft was done in his office. When he went to leave, you went to follow him out and went on about your way through the halls, leaving him there alone as he locked his office door, watching as you carried yourself down the halls. This was not to be the last time this would happen. From there on after whenever Mycroft would be working in his office, you would wander in there and take seat in front of his desk each and every time.

The two of you never once spoke to one another and only accepted each others company. This continued on for several weeks, which turned into months, which turned into nearly a year. Till finally, one night Mycroft lingered in his office for longer than he had ever done. You raised a brow, wondering what was going on in that man's head. When he placed his papers down on the desk, you figured he was done working for the night, but that didn't seem to be the case. Instead, he put his papers down and sat back in his chair to look over at you. He had his hands folded over and watched you like a hawk stalking its prey. Your [e/c] orbs watched him back, but with more curiosity than his own.

"We've been doing this for nearly seven months now." he stated while the snow fell behind him outside his office window of his home. The fireplace to the right side of the room while facing Mycroft flickered and made the shadows bonce off the wall and about the room. You watched one another on this could December night, watching to see what the other would do. You still had not spoken a word in the whole year you had been with Mycroft, at least not to him or anyone that he had known. He knew it was just something that you would overcome eventually, but he only wished he knew when it would happen. He hated not knowing things and this was the worst of them all.

"Why do you continue to linger here?" he asked, watching as your eyes turned away and to the fireplace. He took it as a sign, your eyes could have wandered to anywhere else in the room, but instead they went to the fireplace.

"I know you feel warm and at home here," he said, watching as she looked back at him, knowing that he took her hint and read her with ease. "But what I meant was, why do you continue to linger here in this office with me? Surely there are other things that can take your time and put it to better use?" This time however, your eyes did not move from his. You looked at him as if you were a dear in the headlights, watching him and not really knowing what else to do. He watched your eyes, he watched as they changed colors from the reflection of the fire that flickered in them. Then you went to slowly stand. He did not expected this of you and watched you closely as you walked around the desk and approached him. You stopped in front of his chair and looking down at him as if debating on something. Mycroft watched you closely, wondering what your next move was going to be and if you were really going to go through with what he figured you were about to do.

But, what he didn't expect, were for you to raise your hands and bring them to the sides of his face. With a loving type of motion, you moved your soft fingers around his face, tracing each and every part and remembering every detail. Mycroft was frozen, not use to the caring type of human contact that came to him from someone of the opposite sex or any sex at all. He dare even say he was enjoying the soft touches of the _much_ younger woman's touches and even welcomed you to continue tracing around his face. Finally, when your fingers slid down to his neckline, he watched as you leaned in slowly and dipping down close to his face with yours. He had never been this close to you before and he knew he had the time to stop you, he knew he should have stopped you, but his better judgement was clouded by his other needs and wants.  
 

And so that was when, on that cold and snowy December night, Mycroft Holmes allowed your soft lips to fall upon his in that long and emotion-filled kiss.


	2. I Believe in Sherlock Holmes

To say that things weren't awkward around you and Mycroft now would be a complete and udder lie. You couldn't help the fact that you kissed him that night or that you had these strange feelings for him. In the back of your mind it disgusted you to absolutely no end and you didn't even really understand why you did it, you just did. You suspected that it was because everyone in your life that you cared about left you, and most of the time they left without knowing that you cared for them, weather it be on a friendship level or more of a romantic one, but they were gone before you could tell them. You had guessed that because of Mycroft taking care of you and forcing you to live with him so that he could watch you and make sure you weren't going to try and kill yourself, you had gotten close enough to him that you had a small place in your heart where you did in fact love the man.  
  
You scoffed silently and rolled your eyes. To love Mycroft Holmes was like loving someone who you knew in the end would leave you in your greatest time of needs, but staying with them anyways. You knew Mycroft Holmes would not be there for you if danger would come crashing in through the door. He could not be there for you due to one simple fact; he himself was owned by the government. Mycroft could come to your aid on small things, but things such as terrorist attacks and greater threats, well, England would always come first before you; always. You felt your cheeks moisten as your brain racked up all the possibilities of what would happen if you were to even try to pursue a _relationship_ with Mycroft; the very thought making you cringe. Of course, Mycroft seemed as if the kiss meant nothing between the two of you. Though he allowed it happen that December night, he never allowed it to happen again or brought it up after it happened.  
  
It seemed as if he was making it clear that he did not enjoy the action nor was he looking to further your currently relationship, which was merely roommate at this point in time.  
  
You had heard from John often. He was happy to inform you that he had found someone who made him truly happy and that she was a wonderful woman. Her name was Mary, and he allowed you to meet her on a few occasions. When you first met Mary, it seemed as if she didn't know how to react to your mute, but she was very nice either way. The three of you went out for coffee and John ordered for you, as he remembered your usual that you had always gotten with him. Mary was delighted to have you around, knowing about how you became mute and how you had fallen into the dark after Sherlock's death. She knew that you and John were close to Sherlock, but she knew from John that you were far closer to Sherlock than he. She knew your feelings on the man and couldn't imagine what it would be like to hold your loved one who you had just watched died.  
  
Everything seemed to fly by so fast. Time moved on after Sherlock's death. Nearly two years had passed and you continued to live with Mycroft during this time. You changed a little in body, growing a bit bigger than before due to the lack of running about like you use to. But, Mycroft would always complement on how "lovely" you looked, even though you thought you looked like a "beached whale" as Mycroft found written on a piece of paper one afternoon with a drawing of yourself next to it, having added on fins and a tail to your body and making noises of a whale. He found your personality amusing at times. After you had gotten over (as it seemed but everyone knew you hadn't) Sherlock's death you turned into a much _weirder_ person than what you use to be originally. Like one time, Mycroft came home to finding all of the picture of "important" people that you could find hanging on the walls and had them sitting in chairs around the table and having a tea party.  
  
Or another time (which Mycroft had become most concerned about you) was when he had awoken to a sound in the dead of night and had gotten up to find you walking through the house with a sheet over your body (it was the nice one that mother had given him for Christmas one year) and a bucket of ice cream in your arms acting as some type of ghost, but he had deduced that you had gotten hungry on your hunt to scare _"people"_ (once again, the painting of people) and had decided to get ice cream. Mycroft was becoming worried that even though you seemed better, you had actually lost your mind. After a third time of hearing or seeing that you had done something "out of the ordinary" for yourself, Mycroft called in a doctor to come take a look at you. Once the valuation was over with, Mycroft had not expected to hear what the doctor had to tell him.  
  
"She has several disorders that I'm sure you're unaware of and most of them are extremely rare." The doctor told Mycroft as they held the meeting in his office. Mycroft sat there behind his desk and listening carefully to every word that doctor had to say.  
  
"Do tell?" The doctor pulled out some papers from his bag as Mycroft was watching closely. He knew that there was something wrong with you, but what he heard come from the good doctor he would have never have guessed.  
  
"Well, after running a few simple tests with the child, I have found that she has several mental disorders that must be brought to your attention." Mycroft raised a brow as he looked to the side as he sat at his desk. He was baffled, what type of mental disorders would you possibly have that you did not have before, surely the doctor was mistaken?  
  
"Not only does the child have Depression, but she also has what is known as Schizophrenia." Mycroft's head had never whipped around so quickly in all his life, not even with his little brother. He had a dead lock on the doctor, almost seeming to glare at the man with narrowed eyes. The doctor looked at Mycroft with a slight worry about his expression. Mycroft's eyes slowly lingered down to the desk that was beneath his tapping fingers.  
  
"And what makes you believe that she has such a rare disorder?" The doctor cleared his throat, careful about how he would continue his explanation.  
  
"I had given the girl a series of items and asked her to do something with them." he said, pulling out a disk and player for Mycroft to watch the filmed test. Placing the player down on the desk he slipped the disk in and pressed play. Soon, the screen turned on and it showed yourself and the doctor sitting at a table in the study of Mycroft's home.  
  
 _"Tell me, [Name]. How is it you feel?" The Doctor asked, only to have you look at him with a rather odd look upon your face. You said nothing, so the doctor continued.  
  
"I have a few items I want you to take a look at for me. Can you do that for me, [Name]?" Once again, no reply came from you. The doctor proceeded and pulled out a few items. The items were a folded up blanket, a piece of paper and pencil, and a hat (one that was much like the hat John had made Sherlock wear for many public pictures.)  
  
"Now, [Name], I want you to take these items and do something with them. Can you do that for me?" The doctor asked. You looked down at the things laid out before you. You seemed to look at them for a very, very, very long time.  
  
"You may take your time [Name], as long as you need." He encouraged you. Your eyes never left the items as you just sat there and looked at them. Then finally, you moved. Your hand grabbed the blanket as you put it around your body to cover yourself. Next one-by-one pieces of clothes started to come off from underneath the blanket--_  
  
Mycroft's mouth opened momentarily as he watched the scene continue.  
  
 _Next you took the hat and placed it on your head after you were completely naked underneath the blanket. Finally, taking the pencil and paper you wrote something down that could not be seen on the camera at the moment. Once you were done, you placed the pencil back down next to the paper and got up and walked toward the door with the sheet still wrapped around your body. The doctor watched baffled as you went to leave the room completely, leaving your clothes all bunched up around the floor. The doctor then took the piece of paper and read it before pausing to place it in an envelope and it was then the camera went black._  
  
Mycroft sat there baffled as he watched the doctor shut the player and turn back to him.  
  
"What did the paper say?" Was the only thing Mycroft could manage to ask after watching the video of the very strange behavior that you displayed. The doctor cleared his throat again before pulling out the same envelope from the video and handed it to Mycroft.  
  
"It is best if you were to read it yourself." Mycroft raised a brow before taking the sealed letter and opening it.  
  
"I have to say that with everything that has happened to the poor child, I'm not surprised that she has developed this mental disorder." The doctor told Mycroft as he pulled the paper out and read what the letters held. He felt his heart still, emotion couldn't help but come rushing out of the chambers that he had them locked within.  
  
"Such a tragic event to have witnessed. It was only a matter of time before something like this would happen to her. It is a shame though, from what I have heard about her, she was such a nice and loving child." The doctor looked to Mycroft when the man sighed deeply before folding up the paper and slipping it into his desk for safe keeping. He then turned back to the doctor, a small smile on his face.  
  
"Thank you, Doctor, for coming out today and helping." The doctor shook his head, explaining that he was glad to shine some light on the confusing behavior that you had been displaying over the last few weeks. Once things were done, Mycroft escorted the man out of his office and let him go from there into the hands of one of the house maids, who then escorted the good doctor out of the house. Once he was alone, Mycroft sighed deeply. Slowly turning back to his desk he approached it and took a seat back in his chair. Opening the drawer he pulled out the piece of paper and re-read what it was you had written down. This letter, dare he say, pulled at his heart strings.

  
** _ I believe in Sherlock Holmes  
Moriarty was Real. _ **


	3. The Ghost of Sherlock Holmes

Mycroft was gone. He had left you in the care of Mrs. Hudson, which meant that you were now back at 221B Baker Street. You didn't understand, well, you did understand, but you didn't like the reasoning behind why Mycroft had left you. He told you that you were doing much better (in terms of not trying to kill yourself) and so he would let you go back to living with Mrs. Hudson. He had a business deal that involved him going to Russia for a couple of months. You gave a silent sigh as you wandered around the old house that you hadn't been inside for nearly two years. You wandered from Mrs. Hudson's living room and toward the kitchen, stopping by the stairwell and looking up toward the second floor. There were so many memories that resided up there, and it had been so long since you had been up there.  
  
John had long since moved out and lived with Mary, who you found out was going to perhaps be his fiance after tonight. He told you that he was going to propose to her tonight at the dinners and wanted you to tag along and watch off in the distance. You however rejected the idea and decided to stay home. Slowly, you placed your hand on the railing and walked up the stairs making sure to be quiet so as to not alert your aunt who was in the kitchen. Once you had gotten to the second floor right outside of the old door, you paused. Fear struck your insides and you worried about what waited on the other side of the door. Would things be different? Would Mrs. Hudson have taken everything out after the events that had happened? Two years had passed since you'd been in that room and you were beyond afraid. Slowly, your hand pushed open the door and you stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind you.  
  
You felt your heart stop when you entered the room. Nothing had been moved, everything was still the same. You walked further into the living room and you felt your heart beating slowly, painfully, almost numbing the rest of your body. You walked over to Sherlock's chair and stood there for what felt like the longest time. You released a shaken breath, one of the first noises you had made verbally since the day of his death. You turned around and sat down on the chair, grabbing your legs you brought them up into your chest. Slowly your eyes started to close and you drifted off to sleep. You didn't know how long you had been asleep for, but you were awoken to the feeling of someone's eyes on your body. Slowly you opened your eyes and as your vision cleared you looked up and through the darkness of the room you seen an outline of a very tall figure.  
  
You just continued to look at it until your eyes adjusted and the image turned into a ghost of your past. Sherlock Holmes stood before you, watching your every move as you watched his. He stood there for the longest time as you sat there still curled up in a ball in his chair and looking right back at him.  
  
"Hello [Name]." His deep voice was still clear in your mind as his lips moved while he spoke. You blinked a few times before smiling softly and closing your eyes to lean your head back against his chair.  
  
"Why is it that you and John seem to think that I'm an illusion of your imaginations?" he asked, kneeling down to your height and watching as you opened your eyes again slowly. You looked at him confused. You knew he wasn't alive, he was dead. You held his dead and lifeless body in your arms that day two years ago outside of the hospital. Everyone said you were crazy. So you rubbed this off as finally losing the last of your sanity, but it was nice. You reached out a hand and was going to touch his face, wishing that he was indeed real. So, when you expected your hand to go right through him, you didn't expect the warmth of his cheek under the palm of your hand.  
  
You froze. Pulling out your other hand you placed it on the other side of his cheek and ran both hands along the sides of his face, feeling his nose was slightly out of place and when he flinched you pulled away quickly.  
  
"Wish I had this type of reaction from John." he chuckled, looking down to the floor before looking back up at you. You felt your breath catch in the back of your throat and your blood run cold.  
  
 _"S-Sherlock?"_ His eyes widened when he heard you whisper his name. Mycroft had informed him that you hadn't said a single word or made a sound since he faked his own death. So, when the first words that you had spoken was his name, Sherlock didn't know what to do. But, this quiet moment was brought to a screeching halt when it seemed everything clicked in the back of your mind. Sherlock was alive and sitting in front of you.  
  
Sherlock was alive.  
  
 _Sherlock_ was alive.  
  
 _Sherlock_ was _alive._  
  
Sherlock alive.  
  
Needless to say, Sherlock had one hell of a time after this registered in the back of your mind. He could hardly believe that after nearly two year of being mute that you could scream bloody murder at the top of your lung while jumping around the flat and throwing random ass objects at him.

  
_It seemed that the Ghost of Sherlock Holmes wasn't very welcome back into your life._   



	4. Her Emotions Matter

Little else was said between the whole matter on Sherlock rising from the dead and returning to 221B Baker Street. Though he wished for his presences to go unknown at the time being, he was most certainly annoyed by being looked over by one particular person; [Name]. You honestly couldn't express your feelings for his return due to the hurt and pain he had put you through for the last two years. Mycroft had informed Sherlock of your life after his absence, causing the highly-functioning sociopath to actually think on everything for a moment. Even though Sherlock wasn't one for those types of human emotions, he couldn't help but feel even the least bit distraught about the whole situation.  
  
"She's not even talking to me." Sherlock informed John, who wasn't all that thrilled to see him in the first place either.  
  
"Jee, I wonder why Sherlock?" Sherlock noticed the sarcasm in John's voice which in turn caused Sherlock to turn and look upon John with that one brow raised high, which meant he didn't understand. John gave a frustrated sigh while shaking his head.  
  
"Sherlock, after your-- _death._ [Name] tried to end her own life on at least three known accounts."  
  
"As it seems. Mycroft informed me upon my return. Silly really--"  
  
" ** _Sherlock!_** " John's uncalled out burst cased the detective to jump slightly, flinching from the unseen booming voice of John. Sherlock watched as John struggled to regain his composure by taking deep breaths in and out through his nose. When Sherlock had arrived to John's door, he was expecting an apology (yeah right) from the taller male. But, instead Sherlock had come to ask question pertaining to the girl who's life was destroyed after Sherlock's little charade on the top of the hospital.  
  
"Now, you listen here, Sherlock." John's tone held no room for joking which meant that Sherlock had better be serious about this whole conversation starting now.  
  
"I watched as [Name] ran to you. I watched as she scooped you up into her arms and started to scream and cry " _I'm sorry._ " over and over again until people had to finally pry her away from you. How dare you make a **_joke about everything that's happened!!_** _**You ruined that poor girl's life just so you could keep playing your silly little games! That's what's really silly here, Sherlock! That's what's silly!!**_ " After John's outburst that left Sherlock incapable of replying and the shock that was clearly spewed across his face, John let out another frustrated shout that echoed throughout the living room.  
  
"You just don't get it do you? You've never understood any of that girl's feelings for you!" John's rage continued as he started to pace angerly back and forth in front of Sherlock while ranting and raving on and on about just how big of a fuck up Sherlock really was.  
  
"She cried to me Sherlock! She _cried_ because she had these feelings for you and she _cried_ because she knew, she _**knew**_ that you could never return them! She knew that she would end up heart broken and tossed to the side as soon as you became bored with her!" John couldn't tell if Sherlock was taking in all of this information, or letting it pass him by, either way, John was pissed and he kept this on his chest for the longest time. He'd wanted to tell Sherlock off from the moment he found out from you about your meeting with Adler. He wanted to bash Sherlock's skull into the wall and beat some sense into the great Sherlock Holmes.  
  
"When we would go on dates together, all she could talk about was you, you, you. Sherlock this and Sherlock that! She wasn't even the least bit interested in me--" Sherlock went to open his mouth, but John was quick to cut him off. " _ **Don't!**_ Don't you say a word, Sherlock!" John was fuming. It was bad enough for Sherlock to show his face around him so soon, but to say something like that about you, it was unacceptable. Right around the time the argument was becoming heated, the room fell quiet when the door to John's apartment opened and a voice was heard coming into the living room.  
  
"Don't worry about a thing, [Name]. I'm sure that you'll get back to feeling better after we put you in these new clothes." It was Mary's voice as she entered the living room with bags in her hands with you following closely behind. John and Sherlock turned toward the both of you and Mary stopped right as soon as she seen Sherlock standing in the middle of her living room. You walked in not even noticing Sherlock as you placed the bags down on the couch with a soft smile on your features.  
  
"Hello." Mary's unsure voice caused you to look up and that's when you noticed Sherlock and John standing in the middle of the living room. Both men looked from Mary then over to you, you still hadn't said anything since that night Sherlock had returned. Everyone was happy to know that you weren't a mute, but since his return John and Mary only thought Sherlock made matters worse.  
  
"Hi Mary, [Name]... what did you girls buy?" John asked as calmly as possible, ruffling his stash with his lips. Mary gave a quick smile before patting your shoulder.  
  
"Well, go on, show him!" Her voice held a small hint of excitement. You looked at Mary with a small smile and a light blush before you went to pull out a very beautiful [f/c] dress from the bag and held it up for everyone to see. John's mouth gaped a bit before shaking his head and then nodding.  
  
"That's very pretty, [Name]." John said, curious as to why you had bought such a dress. It was something that you would wear to a casual party, nothing flashy but fancy enough to catch the eye of a man. You felt Sherlock's gaze linger on you and the dress as you had your eyes cast downward almost as if you were shy to show the dress.  
  
"[Name] has a special _date_ tomorrow night!" You only blushed more when Mary informed the boys about what was going on tomorrow night. You shook your head rather quickly and muttered something soft, something that only Mary could hardly catch as she had her hands wrapped around your shoulders while giving you a sideways hug.  
  
" _It's not a date_?" Mary repeated, wondering if she heard you right. After not speaking for nearly two years, you had a hard time talking again. Sometimes it was hard to understand you because you would stutter or slur your words without meaning too. But, that wasn't uncommon for someone who hasn't spoken in such a long time.  
  
"Alright, _fine._ It's a _get together_ type of party." Mary said, correcting herself. "In which you were just so happened to be asked out by a very respectable man." Mary went on, hinting that it was indeed a date in her eyes as it should be in yours as well.  
  
"Well, I'm sure whatever it is [Name] will have a wonderful time." John spoke up, a smile on his face. Sherlock looked between the three of them as he was left completely out of the picture. Mary smiled to John nodding her head before excusing the two of them as she lead [Name] out of the room and into the bedroom and let the two boys had their little chit-chat. Once the both of you were gone, John turned back to Sherlock with a long sigh.  
  
"Did you know about this?" Sherlock asked John, would only rolled his eyes. "You knew she had a date with someone didn't you?" He continued to push the man into telling him more about the things he had been left out about.  
  
"You've been gone for two years, Sherlock. [Name] was bound to find someone else while you were gone." John replied before motioning Sherlock toward the door. Sherlock raised a brow before John had to give him a few pushes toward the exit.  
  
"But, you were just saying that she--"  
  
"Like I said Sherlock, it's been two years. Perhaps if you would have informed her of at least something before you decided to leave, she wouldn't have moved on and found someone else." With one more shove Sherlock was out the door and standing on the porch. Instantly Sherlock turned about and shoved his foot into the door before John could close it.  
  
"Sherlock, remove your foot. Now." John ordered, his voice showing no signs that he was willing to play games anymore. Sherlock looked down at his long-time friend with a serious expression.  
  
"Who is he?" Sherlock asked. John smirked.  
  
"You're the great Sherlock Holmes, the one and only Consulting Detective and Highly-Functioning Sociopath. _You figure it out._ " And with that, John kicked Sherlock's foot out of the way and promptly slammed the door right in his face. Sherlock looked at the white wooden slab for a long time before turning around quickly and walking away with his coat collar up and his hands shoved into his pockets.  


	5. Gold Fish

A few days after you and Mary had went out and bought your dress, there was a visitor at 221 Baker Street. When you heard his voice, you couldn't help but make that climb up the stairs and into Sherlock's flat. When you entered in through the door, you seen Mycroft sitting there across from Sherlock. You raised a brow, wondering why they were playing Operation when there was a chest board sitting right next to them. When you walked in you caught Mycroft's eyes shift over to you and the buzzer of the game went off, causing Mycroft to drop the heart which he was trying to grab.  
  
"Blast it!" Mycroft cursed, sighing before dropping the game piece all together. Sherlock chuckled, watching as his dearest older brother leaned back in the chair and merely glared at the game.  
  
"Oh how like you, the broken heart." Sherlock's smirk caused Mycroft to glare before proceeding to sit back in the chair.  
  
"Enough of these childish games." He commented, his gaze moving from Sherlock and over to you before resting there. You kept eye contact with him. You hadn't seen the man in nearly six months and he just randomly decided to show up and visit Sherlock, that was Mycroft for you. A small smile came to your lips as you opened your mouth slightly, pushing the words out.  
  
"Mycroft." Your voice was still incredibly horse, but never the less, you were back to speaking once again. Mycroft showed you a very soft smile.  
  
"Miss. [L/N]." You couldn't help but be happy about his visit, but of course all good things had to come to an end.  
  
"So, the broken heart." Sherlock started up again, glancing between his brother and yourself. Mycroft's smile dropped as he turned to give his brother an unamused look.  
  
"Sherlock, enough of your silly little games." Mycroft told his younger half while he adjusted himself in John's old chair. "Besides, I was always the smart one when it came to games. Smart enough for the both of us." Mycroft prompted. Sherlock rolled his eyes, it was his turn to be unamused.  
  
"Besides, we thought you were the stupid one until we met other children."  
  
"And what a mistake that was."  
  
" _Dreadful._ Absolutely _dreadful._ " Mycroft sighed, causing you to giggle quietly to yourself.  
  
"What were they thinking?" He continued.  
  
"Probably trying to make _friends_." Both boys then went to roll their eyes. It was shortly after that Sherlock noticed you were still standing there, so he turned and looked upon you. You felt his eyes on you, but you didn't even spare the man a second glance. You were still very much upset with Sherlock Holmes right now, and so you gave all your attention to Mycroft. This made you smile more than before, knowing that it was going to annoy Sherlock to a great extent.

"So, the Gold Fish?" Sherlock commented, causing Mycroft to give his little brother a dastardly look of udder disgust.

"Change the subject, _now_." Mycroft cold and icy glare was enough to make anyone shutter in their place, but it didn't seem to effect Sherlock in the slightest. You could tell that whatever you walked in on was something that was between Sherlock and Mycroft. Honestly you didn't know what was going on with this whole 'Gold Fish' ordeal but a part of you didn't want to know, then again you were rather curious as to what they were talking about before you entered the room. It wasn't shortly after that Mrs. Hudson had entered the room with a tray of both tea and what looked like some sort of British crumpets for the guest. She went on and on about how happy she was to see Sherlock sitting back in his old chair and how it just felt so right for him to be back. You watched as Sherlock couldn't help but smile and give a small glance between both you and Mycroft.  


"Never been happier, Mrs. Hudson." Though Mycroft's tone was dull, you knew that he meant it. He was happy to have his little brother back in London and going about this mystery and helping out. You didn't know much of what was going on, all you knew was that London was in trouble and they needed the help of the great Sherlock Holmes once more. Shortly after Mrs. Hudson left the room you found Sherlock standing up from his chair and walking toward the table where a hat had laid.

"Let's play Deductions!" He sounded oh so thrilled about playing the game with his elder brother, who didn't seem nearly as amused as him. Mycroft rolled his eyes as Sherlock threw the cap his way and caught it in one hand.

"Sherlock, this is hardly the time for games."

"But of course, London's terror alert has been raised to critical. Go on now, it's been an _age_." Sherlock's mocking tone was all it took to get another glare from Mycroft as he lowered his head and took one long sniff of the rather dorky hat that he held in his hands. He glanced back up at his younger brother with a raised brow.

"I _always_ win." Mycroft reminded Sherlock, though you understood why Mycroft was so good at winning their games. He was older and had more time to learn about how to deduce than his younger brother.

"Which is why you can't resist."

"I find nothing irresistible about a hat of a well traveled anxious, sentimental, unfit-creature of habit with appalling halitosis." You blinked, Mycroft's words had slipped through his mouth so quickly that you weren't even sure what he had said until a moment of silence passed between the two bothers. Mycroft stood there for a moment, looking distressed that he had been caught into the trap by his own blood.

" _Damn_." It rolled off his tongue in an annoyance as he tossed the hat back to Sherlock and the game begun underway quickly. It was nothing new that you had been forgotten over in the corner of the room for the time being as the game rolled on, each of them figuring out something different about the hat in each way that was unique. You watched as things slowly started to get heated as they started approaching one another and telling each other about the hat. It wasn't until Mrs. Hudson returned and Sherlock had just finished explain about the different vibrates of sheep's hair did Sherlock become extremely close to his brother. 

"He's different so what? Why would he mind?" Sherlock asked after Mycroft had just explained that the owner of the hat didn't care what others had thought of him and was the reason why he would wear that God awful looking hat out and about around town. Mycroft just looked to his brother, you had caught something had changed in this eyes, something had changed with what Sherlock had just told him.

"Quite right," Sherlock said, putting on the hat and showing his brother just how dreadful it really looked. "Why would anyone, _mind_?"

You stood there watching as Mycroft's mouth dropped as he gaped at Sherlock, shaking his head slightly with a very baffled and yet slightly amused look upon his face.

"I'm not lonely, Sherlock." The air became tense, far too tense for you to just ignore it. Sherlock lowered his head slightly and looked at his brother with a rather hash looking gaze. Sherlock slowly stepped up toward Mycroft and was inches from his face. Mycroft gazed at Sherlock and stood there for a moment, his eyes widened just a tad bit by his brother's reaction.

" _How would you know_?" Their eye contact did not falter until Sherlock moved away from his brother and removed the hat in the process. You stood there, releasing a breath that you hadn't even known you had been holding the whole time things had become tense. When Sherlock moved away, and his back was to his brother, Mycroft's eyes flickered over toward you for a split second, so fast that you weren't even sure that it had happened.

"Yes, well, back to work, if you don't mind." Mycroft said as he moved his way through the flat and past yourself. He paused for a moment, almost as if he was going to say something with the way he looked at you, but you knew he could feel Sherlock's gaze on his back which made him think for a second time about saying anything and gave a simple, 'good morning' before he left. As Mycroft made his way down the stairs, you could still feel Sherlock's gaze lingering on you so you turned to look at him. You were correct, he was indeed looking at you, watching as you had kept your eyes on Mycroft until he made his way down the stairs. You pulled your gaze away, and turned to head down the stairs yourself when a comment from Sherlock reached your ears.  


" _You're_ the Gold Fish?" You didn't understand what he had meant by those words, but then again he was Sherlock Holmes and he never made any sense to you.


	6. I Promise

Things had become quiet odd between both you and Sherlock Holmes. Since his return it seemed as if he had become more, how would you put it, _friendly?_ Was that the correct way to describe it? Which to you was utterly and completely **mad** to say the least. Someone like Mr. Sherlock Holmes disappears for nearly two years and suddenly he comes back all _sincere_ and _caring,_ ugh, it was enough to make you cringe at the mere through of it all. Sherlock Holmes was many thing, but sincere and caring, well, he was not. So, you figured it was something of Mycroft's doing, but you quickly crossed out that idea when you knew that Sherlock didn't give a damn about Mycroft's authority and so it was back to the drawing board. It was strange having Sherlock back. What was even stranger was having this _new_ Sherlock around.  
  
Walking around in the kitchen in Sherlock's flat you noticed something out of the ordinary, something that shouldn't even be anywhere in his flat. A small black box with a piece of paper attached to the top with your initials written on it. You raised a brow but inspected the box none the less. Placing your fingers on the lid you picked it up and placed it in your hands, where you slowly went to open it and your eyes instantly snapped shut. Closing the box you made your way back into Sherlock's bedroom, where he was currently. You didn't even care to knock as you threw open the door and found him sitting on the edge of his bed reading over a paper. As soon as you had opened the door your arm flew out and you launched the box straight toward his face, nailing him right on the forehead.  
  
"Ow! For God's sakes what the--" Sherlock didn't even have time to finish as you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and started to shake him repeatedly back and forth on the bed, causing the man's eyes to widen.  
  
"Stop playing these games with me Sherlock Holmes!!" you screamed, since screaming was the only way your horse voice didn't cause you to stutter and you could be heard.  
  
"Just stop it! You're not _nice_ you're not _sincere_ and you certainly don't give people _presents!_ " You finished up by releasing Sherlock's collar and having him fall backwards onto the bed. He laid there propped up on his elbows on the bed and just looking at you before his eyes drifted over to the box. His lanky fingers reached out and curled around the box before pulling it into his large hands and sitting up on the bed. His eyes lingered on the box for a moment before he peeked up at you from underneath his brown curly locks.  
  
"A belated birthday gift." he whispered, holding the box out in the palm of his flat hand. You looked down at the box and shook your head. He continued to look at you and held it out in his hand until you would agree to take it from him, but instead the two of you staid put like that in the room for a long while.  
  
"I don't want it." you said, shaking your head, repeating the words a couple more times before stopping.  
  
"You don't get to give me gifts Sherlock, not after what happened. Not ever, after what happened." Your words stung as you turned and left the room. Sherlock watched as you left, not even thinking twice about stopping you as he heard your feet hitting the wooden steps of the stairs as you raced down them in a hurry. He sighed, pulling his hand back he placed the little black box down on the bed and stared at it for the longest time.

 

* * *

  
"I don't know how much more I can take being there with him." you said, sipping on your tea slowly, allowing the warmth to flow down the back of your throat giving it a nice feeling. Mycroft sighed deeply and shook his head. He crossed one leg over the other as the two of you sat on the cafe store front enjoying the London afternoon weather. His hair was slicked back like normal and he wore one of his many suits, while his eyes were locked on you.  
  
"Sherlock can be quiet a handful at times, but you've put up with him in the past, what has changed?" You glanced over at Mycroft with a saddened expression and he instantly knew something was wrong.  
  
"I thought I'd be happy, thrilled that he's back, but..."  
  
"But?" Mycroft raised a brow. You sighed deeply while placing your tea cup down and looked his way.  
  
"He's... _different._ He's _nice_ and... and...."  
  
"Perhaps time away has somehow managed to change our poor little Sherlock into a better person?" Mycroft's voice held all kinds of sarcasm and joke in the tone, which caused you to send a small glare the man's way.  
  
"He gave me a _"bleated birthday present"_ Mycroft." Mycroft abruptly stopped drinking his tea and started to cough slightly on the shocking news. He pulled his cup away quickly and gave you a look as if you had grown two heads.  
  
"He _what_?" Mycroft honestly couldn't believe his ears. You repeated what you had just said and Mycroft had a dear in the head lights type of look upon his face.  
  
"Oh dear," he said, sitting down his cup onto the saucer and placing it back down onto the table. "This is worse than I thought. Sherlock Holmes, my little brother, giving you a belated birthday present? What was the gift? A severed eye-ball?" You rolled your eyes, Mycroft just couldn't take anything as serious as you could sometimes when it came to things like this and it peeved you a bit.  
  
" _No,_ but that would have been at least a bit better than what he did pick out for me." Mycroft raised a brow, curious to find out what his little brother had actually managed to give you. You sighed and shook your head a small smile spread across your lips as you yourself couldn't believe what it was when you opened that box.  
  
"He gave me--"

 

* * *

  
Sherlock was sitting in his flat in 221B Baker street when he heard the front door being thrown open and heard someone racing up the stairs. He had thought it was you coming back after you had calmed down, but then he realized that the footsteps were far too heavy to be you and it had to have been a man. He expected it to be his brother, as you more than likely went running off to visit him and explain your gift, so he was rather shocked to see someone else arriving into his flat.  
  
"You gave her an _engagement ring!!_ " John's voice rung out through the whole flat, slightly defining Sherlock for a moment. Sherlock had only seen John this angry once, and it was with his unexpected return. John slammed the flat door shut and advanced on Sherlock, startling the man, but turning at the last moment as he paced around the room and continuing to shout.  
  
"You gave her an engagement ring, Sherlock! A bloody engagement ring!?"  
  
"Well, technically it was a _promise ring_." Sherlock corrected, only angering John further.  
  
"I don't care if it was the bloody ring of the Queen of England herself! The point is is that you gave her a ring of meaning!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and snorted.  
  
"I don't understand why you're so angry. You told me that I needed to start being nice to her--"  
  
" **I didn't bloody mean to marry her, Sherlock!!** " John shouted at the ceiling while grabbing what little hair he had left on his head and pulling at it. John swore that it was a wonder that he had any hair left after those two had done what they've done to him. John took a deep breath and sighed, trying his best to calm down and keep from ranging the man's neck.  
  
"Sherlock, do you understand what you've done?" Sherlock just sat there in his chair with a look upon his face, causing the anger to rise within John once more.  
  
"No, no of course you haven't the slightest idea!"  
  
"I understand that by giving her that ring I've made her a promise." Sherlock said, causing John to stop on his anger rampage through the flat and quiet for just a moment as he looked at Sherlock, who continued to sit in his chair as if none of this was a big deal.  
  
"And what is it that you promised to her?" John asked, wondering if Sherlock had screwed this up as much as he believed he had. Sherlock pushed his body up from the chair and stood in front of his long-time friend. His eyes laid on the floor before they went up and looked into John's.

  
"I bought her that ring, because I promised to myself that I would never leave her like that again."   



	7. No Where is Safe

"So, how have things been?" Mycroft questioned, watching his reflection in the mirror in the bedroom. You sat at the dresser with a rather large mirror that showed his back to you, watching as he fixed that silly little black bow tie of his. You sat there in your [f/c] dress that Mary had helped you pick out several weeks ago when the two of you went shopping, the day Sherlock turned up at John's flat. You picked up a brush and started to comb out your hair, watching as Mycroft finished up his bit and turned toward you. Your eyes quickly turned from his reflection and back to your own. You heard him walking up behind you, the feeling of his hands touching your exposed skin on your shoulders.  
  
"Things have been rather strange with Sherlock back. I thought the ring was one thing, but now he's running about trying to get me to tag along with him on his cases." You said, putting the brush down and looking up at Mycroft. He smiled softly at you, patting your shoulders before bending down and kissing the top of your head in a caring manner. You couldn't help but smile. The way Mycroft made you feel, well, it was just something you never expected after Sherlock had left. Your entire world had revolved around that man, Sherlock Holmes was the center of your entire being, but now it seems that someone else had filled that roll.  
  
"But, I said I wouldn't, because he's just looking for someone to replace John. . . He has that Molly, from the hospital, running around with him." you continued. Mycroft sighed and removed his body from you as he journeyed over to the other side of the bedroom.  
  
"My brother is hoping that things will go back to the way they were before he left." You raised a brow, Mycroft's voice changed slightly with every word he spoke. You felt the room grow cold and the lights started to dim. You knew something wasn't right, but you didn't want to turn around. You wanted to do anything else but turn around.  
  
"But, that's the thing about Sherlock Holmes." Suddenly, your neck was grabbed and you were pushed into the mirror. You screamed out as the glass cracked and you could see blood dripping down the broken surface. Your eyes widened, a sinister smile flickered in the mirror, one that should have long been gone.  
  
 _"Hello love, missed me?"_ You screamed out, the man behind you held on tightly to you. His laughter was sickening and you felt like you were going to puke.  
  
"Thought you were safe? Thought your little Sherlock Holmes had taken care of me? Well, you'll never be safe at least not from me, and most certainly not in your _dreams._ "  
  
A strong grip shook you to opening your eyes when you noticed that you were screaming and crying. You looked around the room frantically, kicking and punching at anything that moved. The grip on you only tightened as you heard a voice yelling out to you, the same voice that held you closely as you laid on the floor. You kept screaming his name, that man who ruined everything. That man who tortured you even in your dreams. That man that took away everything that you ever loved.  
  
" _ **Moriarty!! Moriarty you son of a bitch!!**_ " you cried out, sobbing and whaling out into the air of the flat. Your eyes glanced around and it wasn't until the light turned on did you see Sherlock Holmes there in front of you. He was holding you, worry shimmering in his eyes. You cried out, throwing your arms around his neck and burring your face into his shoulder. You sobbed so grossly and hard that you soaked his night robes clean through.  
  
Sherlock wasn't even asleep, but he was in his night robes and laying down in his bed. His mind was still buzzing with the whole terrorist threat that he just couldn't sleep. He knew he was close to figuring it all out, but he was still lacking valuable information. There was key information, but due to the lack of John and yourself, he was having trouble figuring out anything. That's when he heard it. He heard you screaming out in your sleep. He heard you screaming out _his_ name and in an instant the covers flew off his body as he bolted from the bed and raced into the living room where he found you. He didn't even know you had came into his flat and fell asleep on the couch, he thought you were still downstairs in your own room.  
  
" _Sherlock! Sherlock please! Stop! Stop him! Stop help no no no! Sherlock no please! Don't hurt Sherlock! Don't hurt him!_ " He didn't understand what was going on, but he knew that he had to wake you up. You rolled off the couch in a desperate way to escape in your dream, Sherlock had just managed to catch you before your head hit the floor. He didn't understand what he was suppose to do, so he grabbed your body and held onto you, shaking you and trying to get you to wake up. It worked, it worked your eyes were open. Suddenly the lights flicked on and Sherlock glanced over and seen Mrs. Hudson standing there in her own nighty and looking pale. You continued to cry out and curse Moriarty's name before you threw your face into his shoulder.  
  
"S-Sherlock?!" Mrs. Hudson started to speak, only to be cut off by Sherlock as he picked you up into his arms as he adjusted his body more to actually sit there on the floor with you.  
  
"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson. Please, go back to bed." She looked at him as if he was crazy, but did as she was told, knowing that there was nothing she would have been able to do anyway. Sherlock sat there for the rest of the night, holding your crying figure in his arms. He didn't understand what he was suppose to do, but whatever he was doing must have been working because not too long after you had woke up you were asleep again. Your breathing had went back to normal and your eyes fluttered shut. He sighed deeply, resting his lips on the top of your head his lips moved atop your head, whispering something that he knew wouldn't be able to reach you since you were already asleep. But it was something he knew he had to tell you.  
  
He knew it was something that you needed to hear, even if it was only in another dream.

When you awoke the next morning, you felt even worse than what you had felt before you had went to sleep. You sighed, your tired aching body was feeling absolutely miserable, and what's worse, your nightmares seemed to be increasing as of late. You didn't understand why it was happening. Maybe it was due to your disorders that made the nightmares seem so bloody real? Or was it that you were just starting to go crazy enough to the point where you could no longer tell reality from dream? Either way, things were slowly starting to take its tole on you in more ways than one. You sat up on the couch, feeling something warm move off your body you looked down and found a blanket that wasn't there before. You narrowed your eyes trying to recall how the blanket had been brought upon you, but you couldn't remember anything vaguely since you fell asleep on the couch.

It wasn't until you started to become fully awake did you notice that you were not alone in the room. Turning your head, you caught site of Sherlock sitting over in his chair in his usual thinking position. You shrugged, knowing that he was thinking more than likely about London's situation. Ever since Sherlock's return you hadn't got use to seeing him back again, and to top it all off Sherlock was very different from before. Had he really changed as much as he had in the last two years or was this all just for show? Either way, you couldn't worry about that right now. Your bladder was screaming at you to drain it and so you scooted your bum off the couch and made your way to Sherlock's bathroom. Once you had finished your business and your bladder had thanked you, you took a moment to look at yourself in the mirror. You weren't looking too well, you actually looked slightly sick as your skin was a tad bit paler than usual. You shook your head before running your fingers through your hair. The sudden urge to cry started to overtake your emotions, but you pushed them back, battling back the tears knowing that it wasn't a smart idea to start crying in front of Sherlock.

You whipped your face clean of any signs of tears before leaving the bathroom and venturing back out into the living room. You stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room as your eyes lingered on Sherlock for a long while. He was still deep in thought about something as he had showed it with the complexity of his gaze and the way his body was positioned by the way he sat and thought. You figured he was deep within his mind palace, because he didn't seem to register that you were just a few feet from him and watching him with an intent gaze of your own. You blinked, turning your gaze to the clock that sat on the mantel in the apartment and noticed that it was nearly ten in the morning. You shifted in your spot, figuring that it was best to return to your own room for now and to leave Sherlock to whatever it was that he was thinking about at the moment.

As you went to venture down the stairs, you managed to get halfway down to the first landing before you heard footsteps follow behind you, causing you to stop and turn around. Sherlock was standing up on the second flight and looking down at you, you shifted on the landing as your gaze lingered up at him, wondering why he was looking at you like that in the first place.

"You don't need to worry about Moriarty any longer, [Name]. Mycroft and I have made it so he'll never touch you again." Your eyes widened. You recalled your dream, but you didn't know as to how Sherlock knew about your worries with Moriarty. You noticed a speck of sadness or remorse in Sherlock's eyes, almost as if he himself were worried for your safety. You closed your eyes and turned away, you knew about Moriarty and his web. You knew that Mycroft and Sherlock had worked together to make sure that Moriarty's web had come crumbling down and that London was once again safe from the spider like abilities of that evil and vile creature that disguised himself as a man.

"I believed in you Sherlock. I believed that Moriarty was real. After all this time, I never doubted you." Your eyes turned back up to look at the man who stood at the top of the stares and gazed down at you.

"I know." It was simple, but it was the honest truth. Sherlock knew that she had put her faith into Sherlock. He had known since his return and talk with his brother and John. He knew just how high in regards you had held him and he knew that he couldn't let you down. It was strange, but his feelings were twisted and unusual to him. He did well to keep them hidden from you and the others, worrying that his emotions would be his downfall. He had almost lost both John, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and you once. And he wasn't about ready to do it again.


	8. An Explanation and a Better Gift

It was safe to say that since your dream the other night, Sherlock seemed to have been a bit... well, _"off"_ it seemed. And things hadn't seemed to have gotten any better when you noticed the current lack of his new "Blogger" Molly. You watched him from the doorway, wondering just what was going through that amazing little head of his as he studied the wall that held all the photos and maps of the people he had his homeless network watching. He wanted to know everything about them, not one little detail was to be left out. You knew that the London Terror Alert had been raised, this was the whole reason for Sherlock's return. Mycroft needed help from his little brother, although Mycroft might had been a bit draft to admit it, you knew it was true.  
  
London was in trouble and they needed Sherlock Holmes.  
  
"So, where's your new Blogger?" you asked, wondering if he was even listening with how he was standing and concentrating on the puzzle before him so harshly. You took in his body language, he was stiff at the top where his back was straight as a stick and his elbow resting on an arm that he had folded underneath it while his fingers traced the large lips to his mouth. His eyes were narrow to the point where you could hardly see any of that blueish-grey tent that normally lingered within. His knees were bent slightly giving him a shorter appearance from his natural towering height. When he gave his lack of reply you figured that he was in his mind palace and started to turn to leave, only for his deep voice to call out and catch you off guard.  
  
"She wasn't working out." He called out, knowing that would causing you to stay in the room to continue on the conversation with him. He wouldn't admit it, but he disliked not having you there to bug him daily like you would have two years ago. Always on him like a hound on the blood trail of a vixen. You turned, a long line on your lips as you crossed your arms and planted them over your chest.  
  
"You know, just because John told you to "fuck off" doesn't mean that you shouldn't try talking to him again." you said, finally causing the detective's eyes to break away from the wall and look your way. He held that confused look which made you roll your eyes.  
  
"You can be so draft sometimes... Just talk to John, Sherlock. If I couldn't hate you forever, then he can't hate you forever either." Leaving the conversation with that you couldn't help but feel a spark of accomplishment when you caught the utter look of surprise on Sherlock's face that seemed to have left him speechless. You wanted to laugh, but you knew that would ruin the moment so you decided that it would just be best to leave and allow Sherlock to ponder on your wonders.  
  
It was strange having Sherlock back at 221 Baker Street. He had been gone for so long that you had forgotten what it was like to have him living above you once again. Even though at the start of everything, you had felt so much hate and betrayal from him once you had found out that he wasn't dead that you wanted nothing to do with the man, you couldn't help but feel at least some small amount of joy that he wasn't dead after all and that he was back. But, just like how time seems to continuously move, so did you.  
  
You couldn't help but wonder if you still held the same feelings for the man upstairs. It was strange, deep down you believed that you still adored him in the way that you use to when you first moved into the flat. You still believed that there was that admiration that you had for him. You wanted to believe this, but recent events made everything so hard on you. After Mycroft had come into the picture... you just didn't know anymore. You sat down at the kitchen table and sighed deeply. Why did life had to throw such curve balls at you all the time? Why couldn't it just be simple and easy? And why the hell did someone have to be knocking on the door right at this moment when you were thinking so deeply about life?  
  
Standing up from the table you walked out of the kitchen and into the sitting area where you opened the door for your guest. You were rather surprised to see Mycroft's PA standing there on her phone, well you weren't surprised that she was on her phone, but rather at your door. When she seemed to noticed that you answered it she looked away from her handheld device and smiled.  
  
"Mr. Holmes has requested that you come with me." Her tone too polite for your liking. You raised a brow while narrowing one of your eyes and casting your gaze down upon her on the steps.  
  
"Has he now? Why hasn't he just messaged me then?" She rolled her eyes and continued to smile, you knew she was up to something.  
  
"You know as well as I do that Mr. Holmes is a busy man. Now, I was asked to bring you to his place tonight before 7 o'clock. I would suggest that you hurry along if we are to meet his deadline." You sighed through your nostrils, knowing that she wasn't going to leave until you agreed to go with her. Figuring that with Moriarty gone that everything was fine this time. So, you went to grab your coat and closed the door to Baker Street behind you. Stepping down onto the sidewalk and walking behind her until you reached the car where she opened the door for you to slide inside and await for the car to pull away from the curb and started driving into the street.  
  
You glanced behind you once to take a look back at the apartment window, only to catch those blue-grey orbs watching you turning the corner and out of sight.

 

* * *

You arrived at Mycroft's home no later than exactly 7 o'clock just as he had asked. When the car came to a stop you climbed out and your feet hit the gravel driveway before you made your way up to the front door. You were greeted by one of his house maids, who smiled brightly and welcomed you back. She offered to take your jacket while your visit concurred and then escorted you into the dining room where you caught sight of Mycroft rising from the decorated table. You couldn't help but smile, the table looked absolutely lovely with its various decorations and arrangements of candles that you nearly missed living here.  
  
"Miss. [Last Name], I'm so glad that you agreed to my arrangement." You threw Mycroft a smile, knowing that you really didn't have a choice in the say of the matter about coming here with his PA arrived on your doorstep. But, you weren't about ready to ruin the nice mood Mycroft had set over a little thing such as that.  
  
"And why would I refuse such a wonderful offer from you, Mycroft?" It was his turn to give you a true smile. It made him seem a bit uneasy, but he was able to bounce right back when he offered you a seat right next to him at the large dining table. He pulled out the chair for you before taking his own seat. A true gentleman, Mycroft. True indeed, when you weren't on his bad side.  
  
"So, how are things at Baker Street?" Mycroft finally spoke after a few seconds of silence. You watched as the butler brought in a tray of food that was going to be the starter course of the meal. You smiled, wondering how to explain everything thus far.  
  
"Well, it's certainly lively again what with Sherlock back." you told him, not really sure how to answer his question correctly. You watched as Mycroft merely nodded before taking a spoon full of soup and bringing it to his lips.  
  
"My brother is well known for causing a stir." You couldn't help but feel a smile tug at your lips. You knew better than anyone that Mycroft and Sherlock were always going at it and butting heads, so hearing things like that only made it that much more enjoyable for yourself. Halfway through dinner the two of you spoke about various things and how life had been since your return to Baker Street. You expected Mycroft to give some rather crude gestures toward Sherlock, but tonight he seemed to have been keeping them to himself. By the time the third course came around you noticed a slight change in Mycroft as his eyes continued to flicker to his own plate over to you. You knew something was up, but you didn't know what it was that had his attention.  
  
Almost feeling as if you knew something was up Mycroft cleared his throat and pulled something small from out of his suit pocket. You stopped all movement and looked his way, confused as to what he had in his hand. He looked at you with a rather serious gaze and you honestly believed that something was terribly wrong. It was not very often that Mycroft Holmes gave you such a look and normally nothing good came from that look, but tonight it seemed things were a tad bit different.  
  
"I want to give you something." he offered, placing a small black box down on the table. His eyes locked with yours as his fingers stilled on the object. You knew he was reading you, just as how you were trying to read him right now. You couldn't help but feel a nervous twitch when you caught sight of the box, wondering just what was inside it. Your plump lips parted as you went to speak, only you weren't able to really find the words. Mycroft Holmes wasn't really a man to give such "gifts" so it made things a bit uneasy for you.  
  
"Are you trying to one-up your brother by doing this?" Your tone rather serious and yet it held a hint of confusion. You knew that Mycroft had not been a happy camper when he found out about the promise ring that Sherlock had tried to give you. He showed you just how upset he was by calling John and taking his anger out of the poor man by threatening the poor sod if Sherlock was to ever do something like that again and that John had better "keep him in line" from here on out.  Mycroft couldn't help but give you one of his small smiles as he pushed the box closer to you across the table with his index finger.  
  
"Course not." he said, though that glint in his eye seemed to tell you otherwise. "I just figured that since you are in fact a woman, you would enjoy something with a sentimental value." You cocked your head to the side. Mycroft Holmes had just used the word sentimental value in a positive and non-teasing way? Now you knew that something was up. When he took note that you weren't about ready to move without a further explanation, he sighed deeply and leaned over the table, slightly.  
  
"I am merely suggesting that you would like to have something to... recall our time together when you are not here." With your brow still cocked you brought your hand out and took the small box and held it in your palm as you opened the black velvet object. When the box was fully opened you felt your heart stop. Your mouth was left agape and your eyes wide at the beautiful object that laid inside. You couldn't help but pull your eyes away from the object and look to Mycroft. His gaze was firm and unreadable as he watched your every movement. You couldn't believe that he would go through such the trouble of getting you something like this, it was honestly _not at all like Mycroft._  
  
"I don't even know what to say." you stuttered, unsure about how you felt about a gift such a this. Mycroft merely smiled as he took the box back and picked up the sterling silver bracelet.  
  
"Perhaps you needn't say anything. Your expression gave everything away." he teased. He offered for you to hold out your wrist where he placed the bracelet, making sure it was the right fit so it wouldn't fall. His large showed against your smaller ones and his rough fingers slid across your smooth skin sent shivers down your spine.  
  
"Thank you, Mycroft, it really is beautiful." you told him, leaning over and giving him a small kiss on the cheek. He seemed a bit off thanks to the action, you knew that he hardly ever acquired attention from the opposite sex in a manner that you gave him.  
  
"Yes, well, I'm trilled that you enjoy it better than the one my dear brother had given you." You couldn't help but roll your eyes, knowing good and well that Mycroft was indeed trying to "one-up" his brother. Suddenly, you felt a vibration come from your pants pocket that paused your actions. You leaned back and pulled your cell out and seen that it was Mary who was calling. You looked to Mycroft with a sad smile as if to apologize for the interruption before you pushed the talk button and placed it up to your ear.  
  
"Hello?" You hadn't expected to pick up your cell and have such a distressed sounding Mary on the other end of the phone. Mycroft watched your face turn from confused to shocked in under seconds of the starting conversation. You were quick to your feet which startled Mycroft greatly causing he himself to also join you on his feet.  
  
"Oh my God, well is he alright!?" Mary explained everything to you and informed you about John being kidnapped and buried under a pile of trash and was set afire at a church.  
  
"Oh my God, I'm on my way! No! You're not talking me out of this, Mary! I'm coming out there! Be there in a few!" When you hung up the phone you spun back around to face Mycroft, a worried look on his face.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I've got to go. John's been injured and I need to get to the hospital." Mycroft nodded, understand the concern you had for John Watson, he was indeed, after all, your dear friend.  
  
"I'll call the car and have you escorted there immediately. Faster than any cab in town." he told you. You thanked him greatly with a short hug and another kiss on the cheeks before rushing out of the dining room and to the hospital to try and find out more about just what happened to John.

 


	9. The Parents

Things were changing and changing fast. After John's kidnapping everyone decided that it would be best to try to get along to figure out just why John had been kidnapped and the reasoning behind said kidnapping. Needless to say, it startled you probably more than anyone else. With Moriarty dead and gone, you thought that life in London was safe once again. But, with someone starting to target people that you knew and cared for it was safe to say that someone was out to get everyone. But, you didn't know just who it was, and _that_ sacred you.  
  
Sherlock had explained that with Moriarty's death his web had scattered and was no longer active. You highly doubt that due to the fact that Moriarty knew people and made sure that Sherlock was wiped out, period. So, perhaps with his reappearance the web was once active again even though Moriarty was out of the picture, you knew that he was smart enough to have a back-up man, but who? However, it seemed that Sherlock's attempts to reassure you by keeping you busy only seemed to aggravate instead of put you at ease.  
  
"Sherlock, why am I doing this?" you asked with a huff. Sherlock knew good and well that you had better things to do with your time, mainly avoiding him for starters, but he had somehow managed to wrangle you into an "experiment" which involved you to stand in the middle of the room while he just watched you with this rather creepy expression about his face. You didn't know what this was all about, but you could figure that it had something to do with London's terrorist. You could tell that Sherlock was in his mind palace as of right now with the way he just stared at you with such a gaze that would make anyone feel a bit creeped out. But you, you knew better than anyone else that even though Sherlock was in the room, he was long gone from here.  
  
Just as you were about ready to say something, knowing that you had better things to do with your time, you hushed yourself when you noticed the door to his flat opened and two elderly people walk inside, a man and a woman. You watched as Sherlock broke his contact with you and became wide-eyed, just looking at them as if to wonder why they were even here in his own flat.  
  
"Hello dear!" The woman exclaimed as she rushed over to give Sherlock a kiss on the cheek, but Sherlock avoided her and stood there like a bumbling idiot. You titled your head sideways and mouth agape as the strange interaction between Sherlock and the elder couple continued. Well, it continued at least until you were noticed, standing there all awkward as could be.  
  
"And this must be darling [Name]!" The woman chirped as she moved around Sherlock and over to you, trying to figure out the best way to greet your awkward self.  
  
"Mycroft has told us so much about you! It's nice to finally get to meet the lovely lady who managed to catch our boy's eye." The woman said turning back around and winking at who you had guessed was her husband. It wasn't until she turned back around to look at you, did it click on what she had just managed to say.  
  
"Wait, Mycroft has talked about me? And you're his mum?" The woman just smiled more and patted your cheek as she turned back around to face Sherlock.  
  
"She's bright, I like this one." Sherlock rolled his eyes, he couldn't believe his luck right now. He knew that his parents were in town because Mycroft had tried to wrangle him into taking them to a play tonight, seeing as how Mycroft was trying to get out of it himself.  
  
"Mother, please." Sherlock's annoying tone begged. You glanced between the two of them, knowing that now would be an excellent time to escape and allow Sherlock some time with his parents, which you didn't know he even had any, and run away back down into the safety of your room. But, it seemed that Mrs. Holmes had different plans for you.  
  
"You're even more stunning than Mycroft let on!" Sherlock's mother praised, causing you to blush deeply. You didn't understand how a woman like her could be so... _nice_ when her sons were complete asses sometimes.  
  
"Indeed, she's a prize, Sherlock." His father complemented, nudging his son in the side and causing a deep grunt to come from the annoyed man. He gave a somewhat low growl that his parents hadn't happened to hear as he moved away from the both of them.  
  
"Yes, well, do have a seat?" he offered, flicking his wrists toward the couch. They both smiled and took a seat as Sherlock himself went over to his own chair and sat down, leaving you someone standing rather awkwardly in the middle of the room.  
  
"Right, I'll just leave you three to it then." You nearly managed to escape when Sherlock's mother stopped you, offering for you to sit down in the vacant chair right across from Sherlock; John's chair. You stood there for a moment longer before you caught Sherlock's own gaze lingering on you, causing you to give a small and unnoticeable sigh before smiling and taking a seat right across from Sherlock. You were able to easily read him as he continued to look at you where you sat. He once again wasn't here as he was deep in his mind palace chipping away at the mystery of the London terrorist. It seemed as if he wasn't the only one who had managed to block out the elderly couple from across the room.  
  
Your gaze on him was nearly equal as it darkened while you tried to read him. Living with Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes over the last few years had taught you a bit about reading people, you weren't nearly as good as the boys, but you were getting there. You caught little bits and pieces from him, but nothing too big or anything that was worrisome. Then, Sherlock's voice seemed to pull you out of your trans.  
  
"So, did you manage to find your missing lotto ticket?" he asked, standing up from his chair and walking across the room, stepping on and over the coffee table, and onto the couch between his parents, who looked rather baffled at him.  
  
"Oh yes." Said Mrs. Holmes, explaining that they found it and then took a train and ended up here for the weekend. You watched Sherlock's tall and lean body from behind, watching as he worked on the mystery wall, as you liked to call it, trying to figure out what they were planning. It wasn't but moments later when the door to Sherlock's apartment opened once again and caused you to pull your attention from Sherlock over to the new guest.  
  
"John?" Sherlock's surprise showed greatly in his voice. John looked about the room, noticing everyone including you in the room.  
  
"Oh, you've got a case, sorry I'll come back then--"  
  
"Oh! No, no! No case! They were just leaving!" Sherlock's quick voice caused John to cock a brow as he watched Sherlock basically pull the two people up off the couch and toward the door. John walked further into the room and you were quick to your feet to greet him, looking over his head that had been hit the other night during his kidnapping.  
  
"You alright?" John merely smiled and nodded. You had been extremely worried about the man since you seen him the other night in the hospital. He smelled of wood burning smoke and was covered in ash from being trapped in the fire pit. Luckily Sherlock had managed to get to him just in time thanks to Mary, and John was able to live to see another day. You smiled and wrapped your arms around John bringing him into a hug, feeling his arms wrap the rest of the way around you, you smiled. Glad that he was safe and sound.  
  
" _Oh, for God's sakes!_ " The door slammed shut and caused the both of you to break apart. Sherlock's rather loud curse caused the two of you to look at him with a rather confused expression. His attention turned to John, being somewhat happy to see his old friend back in the flat and willing to talk to him after everything that has happened.  
  
"Right, well, I'll leave you two alone." you told them, patting John on the back and giving Sherlock a smile before you made your way for the door. When you reached the bottom of the stairs you noticed the elderly couple were just getting ready to leave when Mrs. Holmes caught you coming down the stairs.  
  
"Ah, dear, there you are we were hoping we'd get to say good-bye to you." Her voice was warm and cheerful. It was then you noticed her eyes, seeing that Sherlock had gotten his eyes from his mother rather than his father.  
  
"Yeah, Sherlock kinda chased you guys out before I could say bye." Mr. Holmes came up next to his wife and gave you the strangest look that you had seen thus far.  
  
"You're American, right?" You merely looked at him, a small smile on your lips as you nodded.  
  
"Mycroft told us a little about you. We so do hope that the boys will bring you around more often." Mrs. Holmes said, a large smile on her lips. You felt your face heating up slightly, not use to the attention that you were receiving. With good-byes said, and a hug from both the Holmes, they turned on their way and left the apartment leaving you to stand there in the middle of the room and wondering just how Sherlock and Mycroft had turned out so weird with such normal parents like that.


	10. I'm Sorry For Caring

"I don't understand?" It was plain and simple, you didn't understand. Sherlock had informed you to not leave the flat tonight when you obviously had plans to go out. You frowned deeply, Sherlock wasn't making a whole lot of sense as he was keeping you in the dark about a lot of things that had to do with this terrorist attack.  
  
"You don't need to understand," he explained, becoming annoyed with the fact that you were arguing with him again. "Just do as I say." You growled, he was most certainly getting on your nerves at this point as he was treating you like a child instead of the adult that you were. You watched as he and John both rushed out of the flat and out the door and into the street, leaving you behind once again. You growled, stupid Sherlock never let you go anywhere with him on his cases. You crossed your arms over your chest and watched through the window as Sherlock hailed a cab and both he and John gathered inside. You sighed in defeat, perhaps if you knew where they were going you could follow them and be of some help, but you had no idea as to where they were going, only that they were headed to one of the underground train stations.  
  
"I don't need to listen to him!" you nearly screamed, having sudden anger built up inside you as you turned away from the window, grabbed your coat off the couch, and stormed your way downstairs. Your scream had startled Mrs. Hudson, who had came out into the sitting room to check on you as you came downstairs.  
  
"[Name] dear, is everything alright?" The worry in her voice was clear, but you were so pissed off at Sherlock Holmes at the moment that you had forgotten that she didn't have a clue about what was going on.  
  
" _To damn with Sherlock Holmes!!_ " You told her, shouting as you slammed the door behind you, leaving a startled Mrs. Hudson behind. You walked the streets of London as it was getting rather dark outside. You huffed as you walked a rather quick pace while you really didn't know where you were going, only that you weren't going to listen to Sherlock any longer. He didn't have the right to tell you what to do. You were your own person and it was time you started acting like it. You were going to do what you wanted, when you wanted, where ever the hell you pleased. Sherlock Holmes did not control your actions or you life. You didn't really notice how dark it was or how long you had walked until you have come to Grosvenor Square Garden after walking clear down Baker Street which then turned into Orchard Street.  
  
You were rather tired and out of breath from your quick walk clear down there and had decided that it would be best to stop and rest on one of the nearby benches. As you sat there it became darker and colder than before, you sat there and started to reflect on everything that had happened thus far in life. Ever since you had moved here from America, things had changed. You wished you could have said that they had changed for the better, but you weren't entirely sure if that was the truth. You had thought you'd been safe here, but were you really any safer here than you were at home? You shook your head, you honestly didn't know. After meeting Sherlock Holmes it seems that your life had become filled with danger and angst. Nothing had changed from as far as you could tell, and things had only gotten worse after your suicide attempts.  
  
Then come to find out that you had disorders, well, that sure did top the cake for you. You wouldn't be surprised if the reason why both you and Sherlock bashed heads so often was because the two of you were more alike than either one of you knew. You scoffed, there was no way that you were like Sherlock Holmes by any means. Sure, you had formed a drug problem after his death to the point where you nearly killed yourself and you went a bit crazy and stopped talking to everyone and became more pulled back from life, but you weren't anything like him. You bit your lower lip, worried that you were actually like him. You worried that you were just one small step away from completely snapping just like he had done. You weren't nearly as smart as him and couldn't fake your death with Mycroft and Sherlock, but then again, you were cleaver.  
  
You shook your head again, these random thoughts really needed to stop just appearing in your head for no odd reason because they were really starting to become rather annoying. You turned your head and looked up to the sky, there were very few stars tonight due to the lighting in London. You took a deep breath in through your nose, the cold night air opened up your lungs and made you feel a bit better about everything. You still couldn't help but feel lost and alone though, which caused you to look down to your wrist and see the bracelet that was given to you by Mycroft. It put a small smile on your lips, reminding you that you needed to visit him again soon. You found his company much more enjoyable here recently than Sherlock's. It was strange, it was like so much had changed in two years where as before you would bonk heads with Mycroft and stick up for Sherlock where now it seems that the roles are reversed.  
  
You don't know how long you sat there on that bench reflecting on your past, present, and perhaps future, but you knew that your body was starting to become chilled from the cold November air. You sniffled, your nose starting to run and made you think that it was time to go ahead and return home. Preparing to stand to your feet, you went to turn and walk away and head back up to Orchard Street. As you left the park you noticed just how empty the streets were with it being this late at night. You were curious as to just how long you had been out, knowing that it was a good several hours. You started to wonder if perhaps Sherlock had returned home yet from where ever it was that he had went. You wondered if he'd give you an ear full once again for not listening to him. You shrugged, you honestly didn't care at this point as you were far too cold and tired to even think about listening to Sherlock Holmes and what he had to say as he continued to try to control your life.

On your way back to Baker Street you heard sirens off in the distance, making you wonder if they were going in the direction of Sherlock? You felt the worry creep in on you. What if something had happened to him? You pulled your arms closer to your chest as you walked through the chilling night streets. Even though you were terribly frustrated with Sherlock at the moment, you couldn't help but hope that he was alright. It took you about just as long to get back to the apartment as it had before, if not a little longer due to your exhaustion. When you finally reached the building, you pulled out your key and placed it in the door which you unlocked and pushed your way inside the warm and welcoming building. You took off your coat and placed it at the rack as you ruffled out your hair, glad to be back inside after having time to clear your mind. You felt the need to check to see if Sherlock had returned, wanting to put your worried mind at ease, you climbed the stairs and walked in through his open door.

"So, how did the case go?" you asked, seeing Sherlock's head whip around as his pacing body stopped in the middle of the flat. You hadn't expected to get that type of look from him, he seemed very angry and irritated. He turned toward you, his face snarled as the air around him intensified dramatically. He approached you and was on you within seconds.

"What were you thinking!" Sherlock's booming voice carried throughout the flat of 221 B Baker Street. You gritted your teeth, he was one to talk after returning from the subway system after dealing with a bomb threat that could have gotten him killed. You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and narrowing your eyes. It was late and you weren't even willing to argue with Sherlock right now. You had come up here to check to make sure that he was alright, not to be yelled at for leaving when he told you to stay indoors.  
  
"I just went on a walk, calm down." you told him, which only seemed to make his anger grow. It had been a long while since you had seen Sherlock angry, but never had you have him yelling at you in this type of manner. He was always quiet and drawn back, raising his voice perhaps, but never shouting at the top of his lungs toward you.  
  
"I told you to stay inside! It was dangerous out there you could have gotten yourself killed!" He was throwing his arms about as he moved around the room, unable to stand still in one place. His coat had been thrown on the couch and he was left in his dark pants and his deep blue shirt. His hair was rather messy and his eyes seemed a bit wild as he stalked back and forth in front of you.  
  
"Do you have a death wish?" You were nearly ready to snap. You having a death wish? That was funny coming from the man who threw himself in harms way everyday just in order to solve a case or two.  
  
"I went to the fucking park, Sherlock!"  
  
"That was near the area with the bomb!" He turned to you, eyes still smoldering with anger as the arguing only seemed to make things worse. You screamed, you couldn't take it anymore. Ever since Sherlock had returned he had been on your case about everything, _everything!_ At first he told you that he wanted to protect you, he even suggested on giving you a promise ring, but you declined knowing that there was no way you could accept it after everything that had happened.  
  
" _You were right next to the bomb, Sherlock_! You and John both! You dragged him down there and risked his life just so you could solve your case!" You were huffing, your face starting to turn red from the frustration that was building up inside you. It wasn't fair for Sherlock to put you down and try to control you when he was able to go where he wanted and did as he pleased without a word from you. Sherlock stopped and approached you, grabbing your shoulders he forced you to look at him. You knew he was trying to deduce you right then and there, and it annoyed you.  
  
"What makes you think you'll see anything this time when you couldn't even read me the last time?" your words were ice. Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly, a look between annoyance and hurt rest within them. He pulled back, but continued to hold onto you and wouldn't allow you to go.  
  
"I don't have to deduce you," he stated simply, confusing you slightly. "Mycroft's updated me of what's happened over the last two years I've been gone." You snapped your eyes away, angry with Mycroft for telling Sherlock about what had happened when you thought he had died. You felt a small squeeze on your shoulders which told you he was serious about the subject.  
  
"You nearly killed yourself. You threw yourself off the roof and tried to OD several times. You became so depressed that you wouldn't eat and life seemed to have no meaning to you anymore. Mycroft told me that you even started acting strangely, which I can see what he meant, when you developed disorders besides the depression." You closed your eyes, the painful memories flooding back into your head, the ones you had hoped to forget.  
  
"What did you expect?" your voice was hushed and low, you didn't even want to speak upon this subject.  
  
"I thought you were dead. I thought I had helped play a part in your death. I thought that my words were what helped to drive you over the edge and made you jump. I thought maybe if I had staid with you in St. Bards, maybe if I had talked to you I would have changed your mind." Sherlock stood there looking down at you, he felt a twinge of sorrow past through his body as he stood there and listened to every word you spoke. The cracking of your voice, the tilting downward of your head, these were all signs that this was a hard subject for you and he wasn't surprised if you started crying any second now.  
  
"I didn't understand why you had did it. Mycroft hadn't told me anything on the matter, he never even spoke to me about it. All I knew was that you were dead and gone, and I blamed myself because... because..." You turned your head up, your glazed over [e/c] eyes looking straight into his beautiful blueish-grey ones. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as it quivered. Tears started to slide down your rosy cheeks and you inhaled a deep and uneven breath.  
  
"Because I care about you, you idiot." Sherlock watched as you snapped your eyes shut, the tears trickling down the sides of your cheeks. He hadn't prepared for this at all. He knew that something had been eating away at you for a long time due to your attitude when it came to him, but he didn't know it was something such as this. It was then his mind flashed back to two years ago when he was listening in on both you and John. You had just returned from a visit with Adler and she had informed you that you were in love with the great Sherlock Holmes. And now it seemed that Adler was indeed correct on the subject as Sherlock continued to stand there holding your quivering form.  
  
" _And I don't want to lose anyone else I care about!_ " By this time you started sobbing as you stood there in front of Sherlock. His hands traveled from your shoulders and down your arms to where he wrapped them around your back. He didn't know how to comfort someone, but he knew that you needed this right now so he was going to try his best. He felt your arms snap up behind his back and latch onto his shirt with your fingers. The two of you stood there for a while, Sherlock standing there with his chin resting on the top of your head while allowing you to cry into his shirt to the point of soaking the one area with your tears.  
  
As you stood there sobbing you felt as if you had finally broken down. You had tried so hard these last couple of months to distance yourself from Sherlock Holmes in fear that he would leave you once again. You couldn't handle the heart-break for a second time, it would drive you over the edge to the point where you knew that failing to kill yourself wasn't an option. You had become a wreck and had given up on all logical reasoning when you believed Sherlock had died. You even went so far as to somewhat fall for his elder brother, which now you believed you only did so because he was Sherlock brother and reminded you of Sherlock in so many ways.  
  
You couldn't say it aloud to him, but you knew that deep down in your heart you still loved the man that held you here in the middle of the flat. The man who was so hell bent on protecting you that he had becoming so controlling over you and your actions like an overly protective father. You knew you shouldn't have gotten so upset with him, but how could you not with the way he was treating you? You didn't know how long you continued to stand there crying into his shoulder and you didn't know how long he was going to allow you do so. But, it seemed as if Sherlock Holmes was going to allow you however long you needed in order to get everything out and off your chest and hopefully get things back to the way they were long before he had left you all alone. 


	11. We Were So Young

It was a rainy and rather murky day on the streets of London. The sky above looked like a grave yard with it's ever so looming look. The rain was soft to start but as time progressed it turned into a rather harsh and pelting force that stung like needles to exposed skin. The air was chilled and anyone who was caught outside in today's weather would have been labeled a 'fool' for even trying to carry about the London streets.  
  
Your (e/c) gaze was focused on the weather outside. You were curled up in a somewhat ball like position as you rested your chin on the back of the chair; Sherlock's chair. Sherlock, the man himself was standing by the same window that you gazed out, watching the rain pelting the windows and making a 'clack clack clack' noise. Sherlock had his volien in hand as his fingers composed a sad, but rather beautiful tune to match the day.  
  
Not much had changed since you had confronted Sherlock about your worries, and you actually wondered if Sherlock even cared to remember the situation. Your gaze never faltered from the window even long after Sherlock's body moved away. He still seemed frustrated with you, but he let it go. He knew that he wasn't responsible for you, so there was no need for him to try to control you and protect you. Moriarty was gone, Sherlock knew that, but still something seemed to be amiss.  
  
"Your mind's troubled." Sherlock stated, having his song come to an end. He lowered his instrument and turned to look at you, your gaze locked with his eyes. You lowered your eyes after a few moments, no longer being able to look to Sherlock. He was right, your mind was very much troubled, but you weren't willing to openly admit it to him.  
  
"Is this about Chad?" Your eyes snapped shut. How could Sherlock possibly remember that awful man after all this time? Two years, two years and he still remembered that damn name. You shook your head, the horrid memories flooding back as you had done so hard of a job to push them away, hoping that they would never return.  
  
"No. It's got nothing to do with him." You told him. Sherlock wasn't at all convinced. When he had merely spoke the name he watched as your body had tensed up and your eyes snapped shut; a clear sign of a horrid experience with the individual. Sherlock placed his violin down on the table next to the window and his laptop. He moved over to you, standing above you his gaze moved over your body ever so slowly. His eyes stopping on your wrist.  
  
"Mycroft?" he asked, his blue-grey eyes landing on the silver bracelet. You place one hand over your wrist, covering it so Sherlock could no longer see it. You felt your heart twist inside, feeling slightly ashamed for wearing and accepting something from his brother, but not taking Sherlock's gift.  
  
"It's so that I can remember when he was there for me." You looked up. "You were gone for two years, Sherlock. Mycroft and I, we became rather close."  
  
The rain continued to pelt the side of the window, causing the silence in the room to intensify. You couldn't tell if Sherlock was angry or not, but he was starting to make you feel extremely uneasy.  
  
"You said you didn't want to lose anyone else. What did you mean by that?" He was trying to figure you out, you knew this and he knew that you knew. You gave a rugged sigh, you didn't want to speak about this right now. Yes, it was true with what you had told him, you didn't want to lose anyone else whom you cared about. You felt as if your past was starting to catch up with you, repeating itself if you would say. Sherlock continued to watch and wait for an answer. You knew it was killing him not knowing what was going on.  
  
"Before I moved to England, I lived in America." You started, your eyes starting to water over already just from the memories that you had back from when you were younger.  
  
"My family, we were close nit. So close that I failed to see just what was actually happening around us." At this point, Sherlock was able to actually read your body. He noticed the glaze over your eyes as they were focused out the window. He took in your body position, the way you tightened your grip around yourself as if to protect you from the awful past. Your lower lip started to quiver as your voice cracked, but you continued to carry on talking.  
  
"My Uncle Chad and my other Uncle Mr. Hudson, they were close, like brothers close. Around my 13th birthday was when everything started to change. My Uncles started hanging out more and went into the same job together; they became partners running that drug cartel--" Your eyes narrowed and you gritted your teeth, "my Aunt, Mrs. Hudson and I were both dragged into it when I turned 16. I was their "look out" for when the police came snooping about. My parents didn't know anything at the time, nor did my grandparents, the only one who knew anything was Mrs. Hudson."  
  
Sherlock watched as your eyes reddened and fresh tears slid down your burning hot cheeks. He made no motion to move toward you, to comfort you, then again why should you even expect something like that from Sherlock Holmes?  
  
"Then, one night everything changed. Mrs. Hudson and I were at home when we got the call. Chad had went to a drug deal by himself, he was suppose to take me since I was the look-out, but I had refused to go. I refused to be drug into anymore of their plans... and so he went alone, and it all went bad. Horribly wrong. He was shot over twelve times and died before police even got on scene. That's when Mr. Hudson was convicted. . . And that's when--"  
  
"You met me." Sherlock finished. You finally pulled your eyes away from the window, wide-eyed. You hadn't expected him to remember the first time you had met him. It was such a long time ago, but you remembered it as if it was yesterday.  
  
You remembered sitting there with Mrs. Hudson while the very tall, dark haired, bright eyed, mysterious man walked into the police station and greeted the both of you. You remember just how deep his voice was and how calm he seemed. He had that British accent about him that made you just want to melt and run your fingers through his bushy dark curly hair. And he was smart, oh was he so very intelligent that it turned on your young body more than anyone else had ever done. He helped Mrs. Hudson in making sure that her husband received the death penatly; which he made possible. And it was merely a year after that, when you thought you would never run into that dashing and mysterious man ever again, did you actually move into the same living arrangements with him and become his "friend".  
  
"I-I can't believe that you remembered." You were completely baffled. Sherlock stood there, looking down at you with a slight look of hurt in his eyes.  
  
"How could I forget? You looked so miserable, like a drowned puppy who was just waiting to be saved." His voice had strangely deepened as he continued. "You seemed distressed and lost, like there was no meaning left for you in the world anymore. I didn't know about your past, and at the time I really didn't care to know, but there was something about you that I just couldn't place. You were, different. You were, normal, but yet, _broken._ "  
  
Your tears finally stopped. You could no longer cry. Suddenly, and without warning, you threw yourself from out of Sherlock's chair and latched onto the man in the middle of the room. Sherlock nearly stumbled backwards from the action, but was somehow able to maintain it balance and continue standing. Your arms tightened around his mid-section as you buried your head into his chest. It was strange, you were no longer crying, but yet you still seemed very emotional. Sherlock still lacked the knowledge of human emotion, but he knew enough that you were doing better than prior to this.  
  
"You don't know what I've been through. What I witnessed and what I had to do in order to get to where I am now." You whispered, your voice still crackling. Sherlock slowly wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his body in a protective manner.  
  
"Now you know. Now you know why I can't play your games anymore Sherlock. I can't continue living knowing that someone elses death would be on my hands." Sherlock honestly had no idea until now just how much you had been worrying about this whole "faking-my-death-and-returning-two-years-later-not-dead" deal. He hadn't known that it would hurt you so and he felt a twinge in his heart when he thought about it.

  
  
_And the both of them stood there just like that, listening to the sounds of the rain that pelted the window of the apartment  
_


End file.
